


Day 21: Christmas movie

by ConsultingPurplePants



Series: 25 Days of Fic-Mas (originally posted to tumblr) [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Everyone is adorable, M/M, Unilock, student budgets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John invites Sherlock over to watch <em>Die Hard</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 21: Christmas movie

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops wrote a much longer one again.

John walks back to the corner table at Costa and places two coffees in front of Sherlock.

“See if you can guess which one’s yours, then,” he jokes as he sits down.

Sherlock snorts at this, then picks the right coffee, as he has unfailingly done every time they’ve gone out. John would get a fancier latte just to mess with his head, but his student budget is already as stretched as it can get. He smiles up at him in admiration and Sherlock blushes a little, clearly still unused to the praise.

“You look like you’re thinking again, John. I can tell by the look of anguish on your face,” Sherlock deflects, smiling into his coffee. John reaches across the table and takes one of Sherlock’s hands in his own, rubbing his knuckles as he tries to find the right words.

John had met Sherlock last semester, in his last pre-clinical student-selected component. John didn’t have much luck with computers, and had somehow ended up in his absolute last choice: organic chemistry. He wasn’t sure what had been more to blame for his abysmal (but passing!) grade: the fact that he was awful at organic chemistry, or the incredibly distracting, gorgeous, dark-haired chemistry student who was his lab partner. Rather than do the “simplistic” experiments they had been assigned, Sherlock had more often than not elected to cause small chemical explosions and create bright green frothy messes whenever he had the chance, leaving John laughing to the point of tears. Needless to say, it hadn’t helped his reputation much with the professor.

All semester, John had pined after Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t seem to outwardly show an attraction to either sex, but John had started to notice him blushing whenever John roared with laughter after he blew something up. Once, when John had told him he was brilliant, he had turned so red that John had wondered if he had some sort of circulatory issue and researched it all night when he got home. Not wanting to ruin what they had, John had waited until the last day of one of the best semesters of his life to hesitantly ask Sherlock out. It had not gone quite as planned, but then, things often didn’t when it came to Sherlock.

“Sherlock? Could I ask you something, please?”

Sherlock had hummed in acknowledgement, tweezers carefully pushing some powder around on the hot plate.

John had taken a deep breath. “D’you have a girlfriend?”

The tweezers had clattered loudly into the sink, making everyone in the lab turn around to stare at them before the professor cleared his throat pointedly. Once everyone had returned to their experiments, Sherlock had replied with a strangled, “Girlfriend? No… Not really my area,” then glared defiantly at John as though daring him to say something about it.

John had glanced at the professor before dropping his voice and asking, “D’you have a boyfriend, then?” He had been about to leave it at that, but then hastily added, “Which is fine, by the way!”

Sherlock had scowled down at him through the lab goggles before replying, “I know it’s fine,” and resuming his pushing around of the powder.

Either he hadn’t been clear enough, or Sherlock was being deliberately obtuse. “Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me. Fine. Good.”

Sherlock had rolled his eyes, then turned to pick up the tweezers in the bottom of the sink. John had felt his only chance slipping away from him, which was probably why he’d proceeded to blurt out, “So d’you wanna go on date some time?”

The tweezers had once again clattered into the sink as Sherlock whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. Half the lab had once again turned to glare at them, but John was focused on something much more important. Sherlock had given him an analytical look, as if verifying his intentions, then slowly nodded before going back to pick up the tweezers.

Since then, they’d gone on a few coffee dates, and they had been wonderful. John loves sitting at the little corner table at the Costa near QMUL and talking about Sherlock’s cases, John’s patients, school, whatever happened to cross their minds. Sherlock understands when sometimes he has to leave early because his consultant has just called him back in, and John understands when Sherlock has to go meet detectives at a crime scene somewhere. They’re both busy in their own way, but John feels like Sherlock understands him on a level no one ever has before, and lately he’s been feeling a lovely sort of warmth whenever he and Sherlock get together for their coffee dates.

John’s not stupid; he knows what that warmth means, as well as what it means when his heart gives a little kick at the mere sight of Sherlock. John is pretty sure he’s in love with Sherlock, and the crazy thing is, they haven’t even kissed yet. He’s been thinking about asking him to come round to his flat sometime to… “watch a movie,” but he’s also fairly sure Sherlock has never had a boyfriend before, and he doesn’t want him to feel pressured. He groans inwardly, still having no idea how to go about this.

“John?”

John glances up at Sherlock, who is holding his hand rather worriedly, now. John makes up his mind.

“I wanted to ask you… Um… Well, it’s nearly Christmas, now, yeah?”

Sherlock nods, looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Yes, John, we are in fact in the month of December.”

John bats at his hand, laughing nervously. “Hang on, you git. I was just wondering if you wanted to come round to mine sometime and watch a Christmas film.”

Sherlock is still looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “To… your flat?” he asks slowly.

“Yeah! We could get some popcorn, I’ve got a copy of _Die Hard_ at home…” he trails off when Sherlock looks at him blankly. “You know, that one with Bruce Willis? Crazy American Christmas film?”

Sherlock keeps looking at him blankly, and this isn’t going the way he’d wanted it to. John puts his face in his hands and mutters through them. “So do you want to or not, before I die of embarrassment?”

Sherlock gives a quiet huff of laughter, then replies, “Yes. Okay,” as he takes a sip of his coffee.

***

John takes in the giant pile of paperwork he has to complete before leaving, then takes a look at his watch before heaving a sigh. He’s going to be late. Sherlock is understanding, but John is sure he will reach the limit of that understanding fairly soon. He shoots off a quick text, hoping Sherlock won’t be too angry, and immerses himself in patient files.

Two hours later, he’s sprinting out of the hospital, still in his scrubs under his winter coat. He rounds the corner near his building at full speed and nearly crashes headlong into Sherlock, who is standing at his door, his curls full of snowflakes.

“Hi!” John says, breathless, and Sherlock smiles down at him, a few flakes drifting down onto John’s face. John tears his eyes away from the beautiful sight before him and unlocks the door to the building to let them both into his flat.

He takes Sherlock’s coat and lays it over one of the chairs in the sitting room as Sherlock looks around, probably deducing everything about his life from the order in which he keeps his books and the coffee rings on the table. John heads into the kitchen to make some popcorn, leaving him to it. While the popcorn is in the microwave, John pops into his bedroom to change into jeans and a t-shirt. He leaves his hospital-stained scrubs in the hamper and comes back into the kitchen just as the microwave beeps. He takes the bowl into the sitting room, where Sherlock is (as expected) studying his bookshelf intently.

“Hey! I got the popcorn,” John says as he places it on the coffee table.

“This is so like you, John. You alphabetize all the medical textbooks, but you just throw all the fiction in every which way,” Sherlock comments as he heads over to the sofa. His hands are twisting together, and John realizes he’s not the only one who’s nervous.

“Come here, Sherlock.” John pats the spot next to him on the sofa and lifts up the blanket he’d brought out just for this. There’s a moment of hesitation, then Sherlock comes over and joins him under the blanket. John may be on a scholarship, but the heating can still be pretty expensive. He looks up at Sherlock, about to apologize for the cold, when he notices how tense Sherlock is. He’s sitting bolt upright on the edge of the sofa, looking straight ahead.

“Hey. Sherlock. You have to focus if you’re going to predict the plot for me,” John teases, and Sherlock relaxes with a laugh. John hits play, and the opening credits start up. John reaches behind himself to find the light switch behind the sofa, making the film the only light source in the room. He shuffles closer to Sherlock until their thighs are touching, and Sherlock looks down at him in surprise.

“This ok?”

Sherlock seems to have a brief internal debate with himself, sighs, then lets himself relax into the couch, his pristine shirt coming untucked as he slides down the cushions. “Yes, it’s… good.”

John waits until they’re showing wide-angle shots of the Christmas party before he makes his (admittedly cliché) move: he stretches his arms over his head, then brings his left one down around Sherlock’s shoulders, which are now at the perfect level. This time, Sherlock seems prepared, and rather than jolt upwards, he snuggles his head down into John’s shoulder and lets John rest his own head on top of his.

Eventually, John can’t wait any longer, and he prays he’s made the right decision as he leans his head down and gently kisses Sherlock’s forehead. There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then Sherlock is upright again, staring at John. On the screen, the gunmen have just entered the building, and John could not care less.

“Was that ok?” he asks hesitantly. Sherlock hasn’t pulled out of his embrace (yet), which is encouraging. He looks at him expectantly.

Sherlock seems to be struggling with himself, and when he finally says something, it doesn’t make much sense to John. “Why?” he whispers.

“Why what? Why did I kiss you?”

Sherlock nods, apparently not trusting himself to speak.

“Because… well, I really like you. And I was kind of hoping you liked me too. At least a little,” he smiles tentatively up at Sherlock, who’s looking slightly less tense, before he goes on. “Do you? Like me?”

Sherlock nods again, but looks like he’s barely managing to hold in his words. His hands twist in his lap for a moment before he blurts out, “Is this your way of paying me back for helping you in chemistry?” He immediately looks mortified.

John feels his heart twist in his chest. He looks up at Sherlock, who is now a red so bright it’s visible with the lights off, and reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Sherlock looks back him, startled.

“Sherlock, no! No, really, I just… I’ve liked you since the first lab we did together, and I… No! This is definitely not me paying you back for nearly blowing me up about a hundred times last semester,” he laughs, trying to make Sherlock smile. He manages to coax the corners of his mouth into turning upwards, and counts that as a victory.

“Ok. Well. Could I – Could I kiss you? Because I like you?”

Sherlock tips his head down towards John, and John tips his own up so that he can brush his lips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock lets out a tiny sigh, and John uses the arm he’d slung around the back of the couch earlier to pull Sherlock a little bit closer. Sherlock starts to respond, and they give each other light, chaste kisses, sipping from each other’s mouths, until John pulls back and smiles at Sherlock, who, miraculously, smiles back.

“Was that – was that ok?”

Sherlock’s answering smile lights up the room, and John pulls him back to his lips. Sherlock whimpers quietly into John’s mouth, and John has to consciously remind himself that they’re taking this slowly. Instead of just pulling Sherlock on top of him, he darts out his tongue and carefully tastes Sherlock’s upper lip. Sherlock’s lips immediately part under his, and then they’re exploring each other’s mouths, and somewhere in the distance, John McClane is crawling through a ventilation system, and neither of them can be arsed to care.

By the end of the film, Sherlock _is_ on top of John, and they’ve been snogging breathlessly for nearly two hours. Sherlock pulls back for a moment to breathe, and John takes in the sight of him. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is an artful mess, his chest is heaving, and he takes John’s breath away. It slips out before he can help it.

“I love you.”

Sherlock freezes, the rest of his face turning the same mottled red as his cheeks as he looks down at John. He gives him the analytical look again, but John speaks up before he can really focus.

“Do you really have to deduce that? I didn’t think it was that surprising, honestly. I mean, look at you, you’re the cleverest bloke I know. Not to mention the most attractive, but really, Sherlock –,” and then Sherlock’s mouth is covering his, murmuring, “I love you, too,” against his lips and John can’t help but pull him tightly against him. 

A few minutes later, they nearly fall off the sofa in surprise when the end credits suddenly start blaring _Let it Snow_ through John’s sitting room, and John pulls away laughing. Sherlock lays his head on his chest and John feels his laugh through his whole body as Sherlock says, “It’s only the beginning of December. We have time to watch many more Christmas films.”


End file.
